All the King's Horses
by unrelated thing
Summary: Greg's falling to pieces, and not letting anyone help him. Mid season 6, Nick Greg slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This takes place in season six, splitting off from canon there. Expect mild spoilers for all previous seasons. If you're interested, I'm writing a companion piece called "All the King's Men." Expect chapters to be posted together (one here, one there). If it matters, this story gets written first. I'll try to update twice a week, but expect at least once a week.

**Warnings:** Slash. Angst.

**Disclaimer:** CSI belongs to CBS and Bruckheimer Productions, not me.

**All the King's Horses  
**1.

It's funny; after everything, it's because of a boy.

Oh, not the way you're thinking. It's not about _him, _with his perfect smile and perfect eyes and perfect voice with a perfect drawl and occasionally less-than-perfect hair. I think he might be the reason I held on as long as I did. Let's face it, when you know you're going to see that smile, and you know it's going to be for _you, _making it through one more day is… Well, it's a lot more bearable.

Maybe he did have a little to do with it, but in no way is it his fault. It's because of the boy.

Not the delicate, starved child left out with the trash. That was heartbreaking, the saddest thing I'd ever seen, but it's not why. Nick was still my reason for going on. He was always my reason, even after it was over.

It wasn't his fault that it ended. He supported me, and loved me, and stayed with me through all the extra hours of training to be a CSI, to get out of the lab. He recognized it as something I needed. He was patient, more patient than a saint.

Far more patient than I deserved.

It didn't end when he was buried, either. I didn't have a problem with holding him when his nightmares blocked out any chance of sleep. His parents didn't object to us—or to me—when they found me on his hospital bed. It didn't break us when everyone at work realized we'd been together for more than two years without telling them. It didn't end until months after he'd recovered, months after the nightmares left. He didn't even mind ants crashing a picnic, so don't you dare think I abandoned him because of his problems, don't you dare think I left him when he needed me. Hell, I even stuck it out when he had that stupid mustache. _That's _commitment.

Nick and I hadn't been an "us" for two months and seventeen days when I saw the boy.

I guess what's important for you to know it that after everything, it really has nothing to do with Nick. The only importance he has is… well, he's Nick, and that's pretty special right there. But it really doesn't mean anything to this story. You don't even need to tell him; I left a letter explaining what he'll find important about all this. I owe him that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to happyharper13 and Blatantly Jennifer for the reviews!

**Warnings:** Slash. Angst.

**Disclaimer:** CSI belongs to CBS and Bruckheimer Productions, not me.

**All the King's Horses  
**2.

It's strange, isn't it, how someone can have such a profound effect on me when I don't even know his name. Sure it is. One of those "laugh or cry" things, and I've never been much for tears. Even after I forgot how to laugh, I never chose "cry."

And I'm going to break my promise, and mention Nick, because I want you to know why it ended, how it ended, and then we'll go back to the first moment I saw the boy.

I forgot how to laugh. I forgot how to be me. And Nick—it would have been easier for me if he _hadn't_ understood, but he did. He told me to take all the time I needed, to remember how to be me, and he'd be waiting for me whenever I was ready. Have I told you, yet, how he's fucking perfect? He said he'd help, however he could, even if that meant staying away from me, going to a purely professional relationship.

For two months and seventeen days, I watched the pain in his eyes as I felt myself slipping further away from who I was. And on the last day, I finally told him what had grown abundantly clear.

"I'm sorry, Nicky. I don't think I'll ever be me again. Or maybe 'me' is just someone very different than I used to be."

I watched his heart break when I said the next part, but he has to be free.

"I'm not going be ready for you. I'm sorry. You should find someone else, move on. We both have to move on."

I hope I explained it better in my letter. It's just that when I saw the boy, I knew I'd never be who he'd loved again. Whatever made me _me_ was gone, and it would be cruel to keep him waiting for something that wasn't coming.

Never mind that. Let's start over. From the first pertinent moment. When I saw the boy.

* * *

It was my day off. I'd just gotten off shift, and I couldn't bring myself to go back to the apartment Nicky'd never even seen, but I couldn't hang around the lab. You understand, right?

Of course you don't. I don't. I threw away the best part of my life, and I'm only telling you this so you'll understand where my head was at when I drove out to Lake Mead.

What? I like going there to think. It's peaceful and quiet and I've got my iPod for music, so it's perfect.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

So it was my day off and I went up to Lake Mead, just to get away from the city for a while. I was at this little cove I found about a month ago, where I _didn't_ have any Nick moments to remember, and that's where I saw him. The boy.

You'd think, what with being a CSI and everything, that I'd be used to seeing dead bodies. And I am. It makes me sick, thinking about what I've gotten used to, so I don't think about it but that doesn't make it any less true.

If I'd come across the boy at a crime scene (you know what I mean, like when I was on the job and sent out to a crime scene) I would have been fine. It wasn't even a gruesome body, he was just… dead, gone. Empty. I remember his eyes were open, and there was this look in them that was familiar, hauntingly familiar.

I called dispatch, told them what was up, and then sat on the hood of my car and waited. I guess I could have started processing the scene, but I had just worked a double and it was my day off, and I was pretty sure I had just made a big mistake with Nick but keeping him waiting for me wouldn't have been any better and then there's that part of me that was just horrified to find myself watching a dead boy and obsessing over Nick, like the boy wasn't a person anymore just because he was…

Maybe it was a severely delayed reaction, you know? Like, I didn't throw up at my first autopsy, didn't even feel sick, so I had to now. Not throw up, just… I felt sick. Sickened. By the fact that people could do this, any of it, any of the things we've seen, and how could someone do _this_ to a kid? Just a teen, and he's empty and his eyes were starting to disturb me and I was shaking. And it's just so wrong seeing it here, out at the lake where it's supposed to be beautiful and I'm not working, and it's wrong that I can't smile anymore and it's wrong that I let Nick go (but it's right for him, I have to believe that) and when did my whole existence become something that's wrong?

I couldn't tell you how long I sat there. It took a while for someone from dayshift to get there. Bunch of slackers. I gave a statement (basically "I came out to the lake and found a body. We done here?") and let them take shoe prints, and finger prints ("Just to exclude you, Sanders." My ass. First to find the body, first suspect, and they should really know better than to use that line on a CSI) and I let them take a DNA sample, and I went back to my apartment to try to sleep.

A couple hours later, and I was still lying there awake, still seeing the boy's face and his eyes, and it hits me: his eyes were dead. My eyes look dead, every time I look in a mirror; the fire's gone from me and there isn't even a spark left to rekindle it, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I wrote a letter to Nick, but that's private and I don't really want to tell you what I wrote. Talk to him, if you care so much. And I called Sara.

Why Sara? Well, she's the only person I really wanted to say goodbye to. Warrick and Catherine, they're friends, but we've never really been close. Grissom is the boss, and kind of stupid when it comes to the more emotional issues. I mean, just look at how long it took him to get his act together with Sara, and she's beautiful and completely in love with him. She accepts him just as he is, just as Nicky's always done for me.

Nicky. I wish I'd called him. Just to say sorry, and goodbye. Writing the letter was cowardly. But, I'd spoken with him during our shift, and I'd written everything I really wanted—no, _needed_ him to know in that stupid letter.

I wish I could take it all back.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to QueenOfTheUniverse for the reviewing!

**Warnings:** Slash. Angst.

**Disclaimer:** CSI belongs to CBS and Bruckheimer Productions, not me.

**All the King's Horses  
**3.

I guess I can't really tell you all that much. I know I called Sara, but I can't remember anything after that, and now I'm floating in a strange space. At least I've got some company.

I feel like I'm waiting for something, but I'm not sure what. Can you feel the people? They're moving around me, and I think they touch me sometimes, but it's like experiencing the world through layers of gauze, like it's there but not entirely real. I'm not even sure what's real, anymore.

Are you real?

I can hear voices, too, but they're faint and distorted and far away, like I'm deep underwater and people are talking far above me.

I hear Nicky clearest. And after everything I've done to him, everything I said, he's still talking to me, and asking me why and I want to scream at him, ask him what I did and why can't I see anyone, and beg him not to let go of my hand because I feel more now than I have for months, but if he lets go I might slip back into that boy's eyes and I'll be lost.

I've been lost, haven't I? I wonder, why does the way home seem so simple now?

Oh, I don't mean that I need Nick to pull me out. I know he'll be beside me (if I can get out of this haze) and he'll support me if it gets too hard to do it alone, but I don't need him particularly. I just want him beside me.

It's all become so clear, and isn't it odd that it's clearest when I'm drifting in haze. A "laugh or cry" moment, and for once I really want to choose laugh, but I can't seem to make it work. And I'd really like to kick myself, because I didn't need to get away from Vegas, or my life, or my job or any of it. I just had to learn to let go, and somehow I missed that when I moved out of the lab.

If I could just wake up, but something's pulling me down, and the haze is getting darker, and I'm starting to get a little worried here…

Please, can you just tell me, what did I do?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay getting this out.

Just a brief reminder, each chapter in this story does have a corresponding chapter in "All the King's Men." Chapters are written for this story first, and meant to be read here first, although you should be able to enjoy each story as a stand-alone if you like.

Thanks to QueenOfTheUniverse and Blatantly Jennifer for reviewing!

**Warnings:** Slash. Angst (although the angst is resolving itself).

**Disclaimer:** CSI belongs to CBS and Bruckheimer Productions, not me.

**All the King's Horses  
**4.

When I was young, there was a game I'd play on long car trips. I never told anyone. It went like this:

Watch the license plates on all the other cars. If I could find every letter of the alphabet (in order) before we got to where we were going, I got to make a wish and it would definitely for sure come true.

Too bad there aren't any license plates here. I could really use a wish right about now. Don't suppose…

Nah, you don't really look like the genie type.

One thing about being stuck in this haze, I'm getting a much better understanding of my own mind. Still not sure where you fit in, but that's fine. At least I have someone to talk to, yeah?

Actually, I like the talking. I'd forgotten how much I like talking. I forgot a lot of things I like, and I forgot to enjoy all the perks of being alive.

I still can't believe I forgot how to enjoy Nicky (not like that. Pervy figment.). If I ever get out of here, I swear I'll make it up to him. If he lets me…

Can you guess my wish yet?

And I got sidetracked again. It's fine, though, since all roads lead to Nicky. I should remember to tell him that. I was explaining how my mind works, right? Stop me if I bore you.

It's like this hazy room, filled with doors. I think the haze isn't supposed to be here, though—I keep getting turned around and it's probably not a good thing that I'm getting lost in my own brain. In my own defense, it's a very _big_ room, and there are a _lot_ of doors.

I find pieces of my life behind the doors: Mom telling me "maybe next year" when I ask for a bike, the first time Nicky kissed me (I keep re-visiting that door, I know it's a waste of time but I can't stay away), passing my final proficiency. Several are stuck, old and warped so they're hard to open. I've found one that is locked.

Which is really fucking weird. It's _my_ head; shouldn't I have an all-access pass here?

The only thing to do is to keep exploring, the other doors and—ooh, shiny! Window!

Hey, it's Nicky! Do you see him? Nicky! _Nicky!_

Damn it! I want to talk to him. He looks so scared. He needs me, can't you see that?

Why couldn't I see it sooner, why now with this fucking glass between us? And I just want to reach out, hold him, show him everything will be fine because so help me it _will, _but this stupid window's stuck and it won't open and hey! Would it kill you to give me a hand here?

Or a hammer. Thanks, that should work.

Oh, yeah… you might want to stand back.

_reality_

"… and I know this is the last thing you want to hear, G, but I need you. I don't care that you've changed, I've changed too, and all I know is I still need you. I'm not getting over you. You say find someone new? Fine! I'll take the new you, please, just… I'll do anything, just please open your eyes."

He's crying. And I want to answer, but (and this is going to sound really stupid I know) I'm really tired, and trying not to fall back asleep is really taking a lot out of me. And my throat hurts, and my stomach aches, and I feel so _heavy,_ but I want to answer him. I want to tell him everything I figured out.

"Nicky…" Okay, that doesn't sound like my voice. Too quiet, too weak, and I'm not even sure he hears me but it's all I've got so I'll have to make it work.

He's still holding my hand. And it's hard, so hard to do this, but he needs it, and he's spent so long giving me everything I _thought_ I needed that I really owe it to him. Because now he needs to know that I'm here, that I made it through the window and I'm not going to fall back through to the wrong side of it again. So I tighten my fingers around his, and when he notices the look on his face is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

And I want to tell him I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for messing everything up, and I want to ask what happened, and why am I in a hospital, but I'm still tired and now that he sees me I know I can sleep, because he still looks hurt but there's hope and love and relief there too. Which means there's really only one thing I need to say now:

"Stay?"

"Always," he says, and I know that no matter what happened before, I'm going to be fine.


End file.
